Thursday, January 25, 2018
Tricky Nicky, the New Prophet of the Desert
Nick La Torre Tests our Testes
Abstract:
THE GOSPEL OF THE RAUSCHMONSTRUM
THE RISE AND FALL OF THE HORDE
by
NICK LA TORRE
Welcome to the universe of this Nick La Torre. It is a depiction of what the world becomes when the truth is smoke and spirits are alcoholic. God is frankly dead and replaced by some supernatural monster straight out of Dean, and Sam Winchester’s delirium tremens of a series, a shapeshifter par excellence who (? Shouldn’t it be that) can haunt anyone, visit any place and replace any character on this stage dedicated to strutting nincompoops.
And we are the brainless nincompoops of the fable. Eins! Zwei! Drei! Prosit!
One more bottle on the top of the wall
One more drunky at the foot of the wall
One more wino at large in society
Counting his toes he can’t even see
He has forgotten to take off his shoes
The clock rings the hours the tosspot can’t count
Some dog barks in some barn the juicehead can’t hear
Beer flows down his throat like a tsunami in Japan
The tropical storm grows into a hurricane
And the piss artist wets his pants and bed
Don’t worry, good law-abiding citizens, between pussy-grabbing episodes, these spongy hop heads will run for elections and win them ending up in the Senate, the House of Representatives and even the White House. We all need a little small besotted alky in some cupboard for our comfort and serenity.
Olliergues, France, August 28, 2017
THE RISE AND FALL OF THE HORDE
by
NICK LA TORRE
Welcome to the universe of this Nick La Torre. It is a depiction of what the world becomes when the truth is smoke and spirits are alcoholic. God is frankly dead and replaced by some supernatural monster straight out of Dean, and Sam Winchester’s delirium tremens of a series, a shapeshifter par excellence who (? Shouldn’t it be that) can haunt anyone, visit any place and replace any character on this stage dedicated to strutting nincompoops.
And we are the brainless nincompoops of the fable. Eins! Zwei! Drei! Prosit!
One more bottle on the top of the wall
One more drunky at the foot of the wall
One more wino at large in society
Counting his toes he can’t even see
He has forgotten to take off his shoes
The clock rings the hours the tosspot can’t count
Some dog barks in some barn the juicehead can’t hear
Beer flows down his throat like a tsunami in Japan
The tropical storm grows into a hurricane
And the piss artist wets his pants and bed
Don’t worry, good law-abiding citizens, between pussy-grabbing episodes, these spongy hop heads will run for elections and win them ending up in the Senate, the House of Representatives and even the White House. We all need a little small besotted alky in some cupboard for our comfort and serenity.
Olliergues, France, August 28, 2017
Research Interests:
English Literature, Literature, Doctrine of God, Supernatural, College student development, Alcoholism and Smoke
# posted by Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU @ 1:27 PM 
